


Sleepless in Beacon Hills

by yodasyoyo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Sharing a Bed, Stiles attempts seduction, Then Derek attempts seduction, Tickle Fights, and by fluff i really mean intimacy, because that's what fluff is lbr, because they live with each other and are in LURRRVE, they are both seduced despite being demonstrably terrible at it by anyone elses standards
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:02:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26443150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yodasyoyo/pseuds/yodasyoyo
Summary: A moment passes. Then another. Derek allows his mind to wander and his senses to settle, hoping sleep will find him. He focuses on the scent of Stiles’ hair, the rhythm of his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of—“Did you know that some moths don’t have mouths?” Stiles says, voice sounding loud in the stillness of the room. When Derek doesn’t say anything in response, he clears his throat and continues, “The Luna moth has no mouth. Doesn’t eat a thing.”Derek ducks his head, presses his forehead against the nape of Stiles neck with a sigh, and cracks one eye open. He can’t complain. Really, he can’t. He knew what this was when they started dating. He went in with his eyes wide open. And even on the rare occasions he does complain, nobody believes he’s serious anyway. Not any more.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 78
Kudos: 937
Collections: Fandom Cares





	Sleepless in Beacon Hills

**Author's Note:**

  * For [1031](https://archiveofourown.org/users/1031/gifts).



> So I participated in the Fandom Cares auction in aid of Black Lives Matter a while back, and am currently in the process of writing three Sterek fics as a result! This is the first one to be finished -- it's for the lovely 1031 (thank-you for bidding btw!!!)-- who asked for fluffy domestic future fic, that or a circus AU. 
> 
> I did sketch out a circus AU, but in the end this wrote easier, so I hope it's ok!!!!
> 
> Also there are no Avatar the Last Airbender spoilers in this fic. Which may seem like a weird thing to say, but will make sense once you read the fic.
> 
> Thanks to Grimmypuff for the very speedy beta :D

“God, your feet are always cold. Why are your feet always cold?” Stiles moans, as he puts his book down and rolls onto his side. Reaching out he switches off the bedside lamp, and the room is plunged into darkness, save for a sliver of orange light from a streetlamp outside that cuts through a gap in the curtains.

Derek doesn’t reply, just presses closer. Tangling their legs together, he tucks his face into the crook of Stiles’ neck, his front pressed along the line of Stiles’ back, his arms drawing him close. 

“Erggh,” Stiles grumbles. “Is it a circulatory issue? Is that even possible for you? Wolves are supposed to run hotter, right?” Despite his complaining, though, he doesn’t pull away, just sighs and leans back into Derek’s arms.

For his part, Derek affects a shrug; he has no idea why his feet are cold, and he can’t speak for all werewolves, so he elects to say nothing. However, he does pull the comforter tighter around them, before trying to burrow even closer.

“I swear this is your revenge for me accidentally spoiling the plot of Avatar,” Stiles hisses, as Derek’s toes brush up against the back of his calf. He shivers. “God. Seriously, they’re like blocks of ice.” There’s no real bite to it though, and he makes no move to pull away; Derek smiles.

Truthfully, this is his favorite part of the day. The constant buzz of sensory input that he endlessly has to filter stripped back to nothing but the bare essentials, as they lay in the quiet dark, in the apartment they share together. It allows him to focus on this. Them. Stiles. His scent, the trip of his heart, the feel of his skin — these things settle Derek in a way that nothing else ever has.

Or it would, if Stiles weren’t such a restless sleeper. Two years ago, when they first started fucking — before either one of them were prepared to admit to  _ wanting _ a relationship — Derek learned the hard way that while sleeping with Stiles was fun, sleeping next to him was basically an extreme sport. 

The restless energy which characterizes Stiles’ waking hours never really seems to switch off while he sleeps. If anything it’s worse, because as Stiles drifts towards unconsciousness, his mind wanders and then he’s not even trying to control his limbs anymore. More than once the only thing that’s saved Derek from a black eye, or bruised ribs are his own quick reflexes. Not to mention the  _ two _ occasions Stiles has rolled over and accidentally kneed him in the balls.

That’s why, over time, Derek developed this habit, arms like iron bars hugging Stiles tight, one leg coming up to hook over Stiles’ thigh pinning him in place. Derek tells himself it’s a health and safety issue, and not just that he’s a territorial asshole who enjoys snuggling.

Now, Stiles squirms a little in his grip, sniffs, and shifts his position, adjusting his pillow so it’s just right. Then he clears his throat, and very obviously tries to settle himself. It’s clear he isn’t that sleepy yet, though, just trying his best for Derek’s sake. Derek can feel the way Stiles is trying to hold himself still. Limbs almost trembling with barely repressed tension. He can virtually hear the noise of Stiles’ brain whirring away as he sifts through the events of the day, turning every little detail over and analysing it from every angle. Flipping between subjects like a ball in a pinball machine. Work. Pack. Research. His dad. Derek. Laundry. The book he was just reading. 

“You ok?” Derek asks after a long moment, where the noise of all the things Stiles isn’t saying is the loudest thing in the room.

“Mmmm,” Stiles mumbles, distracted. “Maybe I need to pee.”

“You definitely don’t need to pee.”

“How do you know?”

“Because—”

“That’s not a werewolf skill,” Stiles says, cutting him off. “I would know by now. Sensing the need to pee in others. That’s not a thing.”

God, Stiles is so irritating sometimes. That’s what Derek tells himself, ignoring the swell of fondness that surges in his chest like the rushing tide. “I know because you literally peed ten minutes ago. You don’t need to pee again. Go to sleep, Stiles.” 

Stiles snorts derisively, but as Derek strokes a gentle thumb over the taut skin of Stiles’ belly, back and forth, his muscles seem to lose some of their tension and he relaxes back into Derek’s embrace again. 

A moment passes. Then another. Derek allows his mind to wander and his senses to settle, hoping sleep will find him. He focuses on the scent of Stiles’ hair, the rhythm of his breathing, the rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of—

“Did you know that some moths don’t have mouths?” Stiles says, voice sounding loud in the stillness of the room. When Derek doesn’t say anything in response, he clears his throat and continues, “The Luna moth has no mouth. Doesn’t eat a thing.”

Derek ducks his head, presses his forehead against the nape of Stiles neck with a sigh, and cracks one eye open. He can’t complain. Really, he  _ can’t.  _ He knew what this was when they started dating. He went in with his eyes wide open. And even on the rare occasions he does complain, nobody believes he’s serious anyway. Not any more. 

“How does that even work?” Derek asks, knowing he'll probably regret it.

“Well,” Stiles sniffs. “They only live for about a week, with the sole purpose of mating.” He squirms, pushing himself back into Derek’s grip. Like this they’re perfectly aligned. Hip to hip. Two spoons in a drawer.

Derek’s lips twitch up in a smile. So  _ that’s _ what this is. Huh. “Ah,” he says, “is that so?” When he inhales now, there’s a sweet, musky edge to Stiles’ scent, familiar and enticing. 

“Yeah,” Stiles says, hips shifting back imperceptibly, a hopeful note in his voice.

He isn’t uninterested. It’s Stiles, after all. He’s always interested. But... there was the whole Avatar debacle earlier, and Derek kinda owes him for that. “That’s — interesting.” By sheer force of will Derek keeps his voice steady. “Well,” he says, nonchalantly, “good night.”

“Oh! Yeah, ok.” It’s a testament to how well they know each other, that Derek can hear the hint of disappointment that colors his words. “Night.”

It takes a little while, but Derek waits. He never used to be a particularly patient man, but this is one of the many ways in which dating Stiles has changed him. So. He waits. Waits until Stiles’ breathing has evened out, heart rate steady, body slack. Only then, once Derek judges him to be teetering on the brink of sleep does he launch his attack: his fingers finding that sensitive spot on Stiles’ side, just under the ribs, and he tickles him furiously. It gets more of a reaction than Derek could have hoped for, considering that  _ technically  _ he’s the ticklish one.

With an undignified squawk, Stiles jolts awake and flails away from Derek so hard that he tumbles off the edge of the bed, taking the comforter with him, and knocking the glass of water he always keeps on the nightstand over himself in the process.

“What!” he yelps. “Was that?” 

It’s still dark in the room, but Derek’s werewolf eyes don’t need light to see the scowl Stiles sends his way, as he scrambles to a sitting position, the comforter tangled around him, water dripping off the end of his nose. Reaching out Derek switches the lamp on anyway, and shoulders shaking with laughter. “Revenge,” he manages, eventually. “For spoiling Avatar, obviously.”

“That show has  _ literally _ been out for years!” Stiles shrieks, “How was I to know you hadn’t seen it?”

“You should have asked,” Derek points out, but he’s distracted. Stiles is staring up at him. Eyes wide and indignant, a pink flush creeping down his neck and bare chest. Water trickling down his neck, and pooling in the hollow of his clavicle. He looks good. Really good.

Unfortunately, Stiles catches him in the act of checking him out; he sucks in a breath, and a slow smile spreads across his face. Standing to his feet in one swift, fluid motion, he crosses his arms, muscles bunching, one eyebrow cocked. That stupid, infuriating smirk is just — 

Ah fuck.

Derek swallows, throat clicking.

Maybe the whole revenge thing was a mistake.

Sex is almost certainly off the table, now.

Well. Probably. 

At least it would be for most people. For them, though?

This is basically foreplay, right?

That’s what he tells himself.

Fuck it. He shoots his shot.

“I - uh.” Derek’s tongue flicks out to wet his lips. “Hey, you wanna—” he nods toward the space next to him on the bed significantly. 

“Oh it’s cute that you think you’re getting laid after this,” Stiles says, as he crouches to pick up the now empty glass and replace it on the nightstand. Then he grabs the comforter and, standing, flings it at Derek’s face. Derek catches it easily and tosses it next to him on the bed, where it lands in an untidy heap. His eyes still locked on Stiles.

“Hey, you were the one who suggested it.” Derek says, because it’s true.

Stiles glares at him flatly. “I did not.”

“The Luna moth doesn’t eat,” Derek says, in a fair approximation of Stiles’ voice. “They just wanna bang all the time.”

“Bang all the time,” Stiles mouths the words in apparent disbelief.

“Whatever. You’re telling me that wasn’t you coming on to me?” Derek quirks an eyebrow; Stiles has the grace to flush.

“Maybe it was,” he concedes, nose in the air. “Emphasis on  _ was. _ ” He swipes at the water that’s clinging to his eyelashes, and glares, but there’s no real heat to it. He lowers his gaze, and lifting a hand, gnaws at his thumbnail, shoulders slumping. “All my good material is wasted on you. Wasted.”

He’s cute when he sulks. God. Derek is so fucking smitten it’s unbelievable.

“Stiles.” Derek reaches out to him. A peace offering and an invitation, all wrapped up in one word and gesture. 

Stiles cuts him a look out of the corner of his eye, but doesn’t move closer.

“Ok,” Derek says, changing tack. “If you’re not interested, I guess—” He yawns, slowly and deliberately, stretching his arms high above his head so muscles ripple.

It isn’t exactly fair, but it is effective. Stiles attention is on him now. A burst of arousal in the air— his jaw goes slack for a moment, but then he seems to catch himself. “That won’t work!” he says, although his voice cracks a little over the words. “So you can stop that right now. I’m immune to your — your wiles.” He looks away, again.

His scent is at odds with his words. Clearly, he’s walking the line between pissed and horny. Edging towards horny if his scent is to be believed. Which isn’t unusual to be fair, early on in their relationship that dynamic had pretty much defined ninety percent of their interactions with each other. Not so much now though. They've grown together, and that's a good thing. 

Derek gets up onto his knees and shuffles across the bed towards the edge until he’s in front of Stiles. Maybe he took things too far tonight.

“Sorry,” he says, and reaching out he catches his thumb under Stiles’ chin and gently tilts his head so that they’re finally looking at each other. “I didn’t mean for you to fall off the bed.”

“No?” 

Derek shakes his head. Slowly, he slides his hand up, tracing the sharp line of Stiles’ jaw, until he’s cupping the back of Stiles’ neck. He rubs his thumb back and forth against the nape.

“Well,” Stiles sighs. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t mean to spoil your show.”

“I know,” Derek says. “You never do. And yet.”

“And yet,” Stiles says ruefully. His expression is so soft, the corners of his mouth turned up in a fond little smile. It’s a sweet moment, and as Derek leans into to kiss him he’s grateful not for the first time that he gets to have — 

“AaahhhhhhhHHHAAAAA!” Derek yelps. “Fuck! Nonononononono!” 

Stiles’ fingers are relentless. One hand jammed in Derek’s armpit, the other at his side in a spot that may as well be Derek’s Achilles heel he’s so damn ticklish there.

Derek tries to launch himself out of Stiles’ reach, but he only ends up falling back onto the bed; Stiles goes with him.

“Fooled you, motherfucker! You’re the ticklish one!” Stiles crows. “I can’t believe you would even try and start this shit, when you know, you  _ know,  _ I’m gonna win!”

Twisting and turning, Derek writhes, trying to get away, but Stiles is everywhere, cackling like a madman. There’s a good few minutes of undignified wrestling on the bed, during which time Derek may or may not make some very manly squawking noises. Finally though _ ,  _ Derek’s superior strength wins out, and he manages to catch hold of Stiles’ wrists. He flips them both over, pinning Stiles to the bed. 

“Got you,” Derek rasps, flushed and breathless, and far more turned on than he probably ought to be. 

Stiles thrashes and wriggles, trying to break free, but Derek lays on top of him, using his weight to press him into the bed.

For a long moment there’s nothing but the sound of harsh breathing, that and Stiles’ barely repressed laughter. “I win!” he wheezes, and his grin is fucking radiant.

“You’re completely incapacitated. I am on top of you. Your hands are pinned. You can’t go anywhere,” Derek grits out. “How in hell is that you winning?”

Stiles waggles his eyebrows. “How is not?” He squirms again, trying to break Derek’s hold, hips bucking upwards, and both of them inhale sharply.

There’s a long pause where they both stare at each other.

Stiles swallows, then says, faux casual, “Did you know that ducks have corkscrew shaped—”

Derek cuts him off with a vicious kiss. When they finally pull apart, breathless, he rests his forehead against Stiles’ and breathes. “Honestly?” he says after a moment. “Your dirty talk, or whatever this is, needs a lot of work.”

“Like you have any room to talk,” Stiles says, but he’s smirking. “And anyway,” he looks down pointedly. “It seems to be working for _ you _ .”

There isn’t much Derek can say to that in the face of the available evidence. Sure, he could say that what works is Stiles. Always Stiles. Here. In his life. In his bed. Happy and healthy and kind of annoying. That’s all it takes. That’s all he wants. It’s so simple, sometimes he feels like he can’t possibly articulate it, because it feels like it can’t be real. Nothing in his life that’s good has ever been easy. Nothing except this.

He scrunches his eyes shut, mouth gone tight, trying to stem the tide against the sudden onslaught of emotion.

“I know,” Stiles says, voice surprisingly gentle, his breath warm against Derek's cheek. He presses a kiss to Derek’s mouth. “I know. Feelings are hard.”

Derek risks opening his eyes to look at him. He’s beautiful. Always beautiful. Sparkling eyes and a beaming smile. There’s so much caring in that gaze, and Derek honestly never thought he would be able to engender that kind of love or loyalty in another person, and yet here it is, burning brightly for anyone to see.

Here they are. In the apartment that they share. In the bed they sleep in together. Warm and safe and in love. Sometimes the thought that he gets this is too much. It’s too— 

“Hey,” Stiles says, rolling his hips upwards. “You know what else is hard?” He does his stupid, endearing eyebrow waggle again, and Derek wants to look pissed. Tries to glare, but the expression won’t hold. It’s seconds before his shoulders start to shake with barely repressed laughter.

He lets go of Stiles and rolls off him, so he’s lying on the bed next to him, one hand covering his own face as laughter bubbles up from his chest, bright and uncontrollable. 

Stiles scrambles to sit up and stares down at Derek with an expression that’s part fond, part concerned. “Have I broken you?” he asks eventually, tentatively patting Derek’s shoulder. “Is this what it took? One bad dick joke too many?”

It takes a moment, but Derek finally manages to calm himself down. He gazes up at Stiles, and he doesn’t often have the words— tends to speak to rely on actions to make his point, but right now he knows exactly what words to use. “Hey,” he says, leaning up onto one elbow. “Did you know that beavers mate for life?”

“I—” A brief moment of confusion flashes across Stiles’ face, before he gets what Derek means. He swallows, expression turning soft. “Is that right?” 

Derek nods, and pulls him down into a kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> If you leave kudos or comments then you're the real MVPs :D
> 
> Black Lives Matter!


End file.
